Vanilla skin and cinnamon eyes, the image of her sticks like syrup in your head. When at home, she's found barefoot with unkempt hair in a fitted bodysuit. Grungy girl, from the unmade bed to the back of his grey motorcycle, they always ask me if I'm comfortable in my skin. With a gesture of the body and a blown feather, they already know the answer.
We drove off to his ranch. I played in the yellow fall leaves and we slept in front of the fire place. I put cinnamon in our coffee and it lingered on our lips, warm like the aroma of an autumn morning.
photos by: Steven Wilson